Broken Goodbyes, Broken Hallelujahs
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: A scenes from the Death Cure, rewritten. Minho has one last chance to say goodbye to his beloved Newt. (Warning:extreme sadness)


Broken Goodbyes, Broken Hallelujahs

"Say something, I'm giving up on you.

I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you.

...and I will swallow my pride. You're the one that I love, and I'm saying goodbye."

–A Great Big World

"Love...it's not somebody who's seen the light; it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah." –Rufus Wainwright

The bowling alley of the Crank Palace was a nasty, awful place.

The floor had been torn up in places, jagged boards rising into the air like splintered claws. The lanes were scattered with sleeping bags and blankets, all ragged and dirty. People clustered in dark corners, whispering in the haunted voices of the insane. The lighting was terrible and dim. This place, this horrid, dark place, seemed to be one step away from Hell.

At least, that was what Minho thought, when he first entered this godawful room, Thomas, Brenda, and Jorge at his side. He glanced around quickly, not caring about the strangers he passed or the way their eyes pleaded with him. He didn't care about their diseased minds or the way their manic laughter screamed of craziness. There was only one person here that he cared about. And he was taking him away from this place.

"Minho." Brenda's voice came from slightly behind; she rested a hand on his shoulder. "What if it's not what you're expecting? What if he's too far gone already?" Her words were gentle but her hazel eyes spoke of sadness.

He shook his head. "He won't be," he insisted firmly. "He's gonna be fine. We're getting him out of here."

"You know he won't be fine," she said quietly.

"Whatever," he snapped. "I'm still not letting him die here."

Brenda exchanged a glance with Thomas. He sighed and faced Minho imploringly. "Minho...Newt might not want to be—"

"Shuck it, listen to me!" Minho barked, turning on them. He was fuming, hands in fists at his sides. "I am NOT leaving without Newt! I don't care if he's insane, I don't even care if he's a shucking cannibal already! I'm taking him home!"

Thomas' mahogany gaze glimmered with sorrow. "We don't have a home," he pointed out softly. "We never did."

Minho jabbed his thumb at his chest. "I'M his home," he replied. "I've always been his home, the thing he comes back to when he needs me. And dammit, he needs me now. So I'm getting him the hell out of here."

Thomas and Brenda had nothing to say to that. Jorge remained silent. Minho whirled away from them and ventured farther into the bowling alley. It was hard to see; the old lights flickered sporadically, illuminating the slumped forms of the Cranks. Some were curled into tight balls on the ground, clutching their knees and whimpering. Others stood and talked about meaningless things, cackling like lunatics. They were all marked by tangled hair and red-rimmed eyes. The little group made it about halfway across the room when a Crank stumbled up to them. She had long, once-lovely black hair, now scruffy and dull. Her skin was bone-pale and her face was crisscrossed with old scars. Her torn dress was scarlet as blood, the color surprisingly vibrant, as she sidled up next to Minho.

"Hey, pretty-boy," she purred, voice unexpectedly clear and low as the wind's whisper. She placed a crimson-nailed hand on his chest. Her eyes were a startling shade of icy gray. "Did you come to keep me company, hmm? You a new Crank I can play with?"

Minho glared at her with all the hatred in his being. "Get. Off. Of. Me." She pouted at his words, her sharp nails tugging at his shirt. "Now."

"Finnne," she drawled, slipping away from him. Her wintry gaze trailed over him, something shadowing them. "Tell Blondie I'll be seeing him on the other side." Before he could react, she winked, as though she knew a great secret, and staggered away.

"That was scary," Brenda whispered, fear lacing her words.

"No kidding," Thomas muttered.

"At least she wasn't hitting on YOU," Minho grumbled. A shudder of revulsion ran down his spine. He could still feel her claw-like nails on his chest.

Suddenly, Jorge spoke up. "Hey, is that him?" He pointed, across the alley, to where a lone figure stood near a corner. His back was to them. But there was no mistaking that flop of blonde hair, or the cream-colored hoodie clutched in one hand, his tank top only slightly torn at one side. Minho's heart ached. Newt. Without thinking, he broke into a run, pushing past Cranks. Brenda, Thomas, and Jorge all cried out warnings, but Minho ignored them. Newt was here, he was here, he was HERE. And Minho could save him. He had to believe that he could save him.

They made it to about two yards away before Newt spoke. "Stop."

His voice was steely and cold. Minho skidded to a halt. Thomas bumped into him and mumbled a hasty apology. Brenda peered over their shoulders. Minho couldn't tear his eyes from Newt. He was weaker, yes, and sickly, but he was still beautiful beneath that. Minho longed for him to turn around so he could see the charcoal-blue eyes he loved.

"Newt," Thomas began tentatively. "It's us, remember? We came to take you back with us."

"I'm not coming back." Newt's voice was still strangely calm. He didn't look at them.

Thomas blinked. "But...we want to help you. We came here to save you from these people."

"I'm one of them now. You can't save me."

Minho swallowed hard. "Newt," he said, and Newt's shoulders stiffened. "It's me. It's Minho. You can't stay here and die, alone. You have to come with us."

"Does it look like I WANT to stay here?" Newt asked quietly. He finally turned and looked at them, eyes hooded. And his face broke Minho's heart. His normally-beautiful blue eyes were stained by sickness. His cheeks were lined with red scratches. He held a Launcher tightly in one hand, finger over the trigger. The sight of the weapon made everyone but Minho shrink back two steps. Newt glowered at him. "I don't WANT to stay here. I don't WANT to give up. But I have to. I'm a Crank."

"No, you're not," Minho argued uselessly. "You're Newt. You'll always be Newt."

Newt scoffed then, an ugly sound. "Oh, grow up, Minho!" he snapped. "Look at me! I'm a bloody monster. I am DYING. And I'd rather do it here than in front of all of you."

"You can't mean that," Minho replied, taking a step closer. "No one wants to die alone. Come with us. Come with me."

"Oh, so THAT'S what this is about," Newt concluded, as though he'd figured it all out. He sneered. "What did you think I'd do when you came here, huh, Minho? Did you think I'd thank you? Be happy to see you? Bloody kiss you?"

Brenda gasped and Minho flinched. The words stung, more than he'd thought they would. "Newt..."

"No, I want to know!" Newt insisted nastily. "Why did you ever think I'd leave this place for YOU? What makes you think you're worth it?"

"Newt, I—"

"Dammit, why can't you see?!" Newt demanded, his gaze wild, his arm tense from gripping the Launcher. "Look me in the eyes, Minho! Listen to what I'm saying: I've lost everything that used to be me. Everything." He continued in a low growl, every syllable clear. "I do not love you anymore."

Brenda covered her mouth with one hand and Thomas stared in shock. Minho felt the words like knives in his heart. His mind refused to comprehend them, didn't even register them. If he did, he'd be just as lost as Newt. He took another step closer. "Don't lie to me," he said coldly. "You can act as insane as you want, but don't you dare lie to me."

Minho moved closer again and Newt swung the Launcher up in one motion. Brenda cried out as he held it tightly in one hand, poised to pull the trigger, the muzzle pointed at Minho's chest. His gaze was hard. "Take one more step and I'll shoot," he warned. "I mean it, Minho."

Minho didn't move. "No you don't," he replied. He took another step.

"Don't come any closer!" Newt snarled.

"Don't threaten me with promises you can't keep," Minho shot back. He took two more slow steps. "You won't shoot me, Newt."

"If this thing could kill, I swear I'd put a bullet through your heart." Newt scowled blackly at Minho. His face was tight with anger, and something like pain. "I hate you, Minho. I hate you."

Minho took just one more step. There was a foot between them. The Launcher pressed against his chest. He looked Newt right in the eyes. "I said, don't lie to me," he reminded him.

"It's not a shucking lie, dammit!" Newt shouted. His hand shook. A single tear escaped down his cheek as he glared at Minho. "I hate you," he whispered hoarsely. "I HATE you." Then, suddenly, he jerked the Launcher up so that it was against the place beneath Minho's chin. It gave him the room to bend his arm as he rushed forward, seizing Minho's shoulder. He kept the weapon pressed on Minho's skin as he crushed their mouths together.

There were several gasps from behind but Minho didn't care. He folded his arms around Newt's waist, hugging him close. He kissed back desperately, feeling the electricity of the kiss in every part of him. The taste of salt met his lips as tears fell down Newt's cheeks, the blonde trembling in his embrace. A sob caught itself in Minho's ribcage, and he found himself kissing Newt with his own deep, pain. It was a kiss of agony, and hearts breaking, and love. When Newt drew back, there was a burning behind Minho's eyes.

Newt inhaled shakily. "I'm sorry," he whispered weakly. "I can't leave this place. I'm so so sorry."

"Don't," Minho pleaded, a stone in his throat. "Don't say that. I can think of something, I can save you—"

"No, Minho," Newt cut him off. "There's nothing you can do. I belong here now."

"No you don't. You don't."

"I do. And you belong with them." Newt nodded toward Brenda, Thomas, and Jorge.

One tear escaped, racing down Minho's face. "No I don't," he whispered stubbornly. "I belong with you, I'm yours. I need you." He leaned in, and placed desperate kisses along Newt's jaw, his forehead, his nose. Their foreheads touched. "I need you, Newt, please."

"I know it hurts," Newt murmured, and the finality in his voice shattered something deep inside of Minho. "But you have to let me go."

"I can't."

"You have to."

"I won't."

"Minho."

Minho shut his eyes. "Don't do this to me," he begged chokingly, holding Newt to him. "Don't make me leave you. I won't survive it, I'd rather die." He gasped suddenly and buried his face in Newt's shoulder. "I love you, Newt," he sobbed. "I love you so much, please, please, stay with me. I'll do anything."

Newt clung to him tightly. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "But there's no help for me. Not now." He kissed Minho's neck softly, urging him to lift his head. "Look at me," he breathed. "My love, my angel, look at me." Minho obediently raised his head to meet Newt's gaze, his expression broken and raw. Newt lifted the hand that wasn't holding the Launcher and pressed his hoodie to Minho's chest. "I've never loved anyone but you," he said, shivering under the weight of still-unshed tears. "And I'll never love anyone else again. I'll love you until I die, Minho, and if there's a life after that, I'll still love you then. You have to take that and remember that, always. Now, please...just let me go."

Minho curled his fingers numbly around the hoodie, the familiar fabric soft under his touch. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He wanted to beat the shit out of every single Crank here. He wanted to be with Newt, kiss him, hold him, touch him, talk to him, laugh with him, forever. He wanted so much of what he couldn't have. He forced himself to take a step back, out of Newt's embrace. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Newt managed a brief, wobbly smile. "Goodbye, Minho," he whispered.

Minho almost rushed forward again, but Brenda was there, a hand on his arm. There were tears in her eyes as she guided him another step back. He clutched Newt's hoodie to his chest. "Goodbye, Newt," he breathed back, and watched the agony and love brim in Newt's eyes. Then he turned away. And he knew that, no matter what happened in the future, he would never be the same again. He would never ever be happy again. Not like he was with Newt. He choked on another sob and Brenda put an arm around him, holding him soothingly as he finally let himself cry freely.

Behind them, the Cranks' cackling somehow died away, as though even the world itself was grieving the breaking of these two hearts.


End file.
